


A Lonely Little Soul

by perclexed



Series: Happy Highways Where I Went [8]
Category: Lewis (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Disappointment, Emo Like Hathaway, Episode Related, Episode: s07e03-04 The Ramblin' Boy Parts 1-2, Existential Angst, Existential Crisis, F/M, M/M, Unrequited Love, author worries about the state of hathaway’s liver, brief snogging of a superior officer, let’s talk about that rainbow patch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 00:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4983721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perclexed/pseuds/perclexed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robbie and Laura are ridiculously happy with their new relationship. Jean’s not the only one surprised by this new development. James puts on a brave face, but to those that know what to look for, he’s <a href="http://perclexed.tumblr.com/post/113300963583/why-would-you-though-i-mean-whats-wrong-with">obviously much more affected than he appears</a>.</p><p><i>“Don’t listen to anything he says. He’s been a lonely little soul without you.”</i> - Jean Innocent, S07E03-04 “Ramblin’ Boy”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, enormous thanks to Tehomet, Medie and Tinzelda. I wouldn't still be writing in this little universe without their continued encouragement. Massive props also to Owlbsurfinbird and Phoenix_173 for their assistance as well. This story is so much better for their input and comments. 
> 
> I've fussed at, and changed the story considerably since I first wrote it. Any and all remaining mistakes are the fault of the author, not the betas.

Jean may not have actively investigated cases herself for some time, but a blind person wouldn’t have missed James’ non-verbal reaction to the kiss Hobson was laying on Lewis right before their eyes. To his credit, he covers well, and if she hadn’t caught the utter devastation visible plain as day on his handsome face and in his eyes, if only for a fleeting moment, she might actually believe he truly is happy for the new couple.

And knowing James? He probably really is, on some level.

His reaction to that kiss is such a contrast to the way he’d glowed with happiness when he had first greeted Robbie. James’ eyes had practically been sparkling. Pretty obvious to see what was going on there even if you’re not a copper. The playful smile curling his lips has disappeared so thoroughly and so suddenly that it nearly takes her breath away in sympathetic shock. 

The smile he’s pasted on now feels false, though he looks perfectly normal. 

That smile doesn’t reach his eyes, but Laura and Robbie are too wrapped up in each other, and the giddiness of having their relationship out in the open that they don’t notice.

She’s had her suspicions for some time about the true nature of Hathaway’s feelings for his inspector. Nothing concrete, of course, not until now. Hathaway is an enigma in nearly every way, and if Lewis had actually noticed that his feelings are perhaps somewhat more than professional admiration, he’d never let on. Not while she’s in the room. 

That’s also understandable, given police regulations. She has some flexibility about splitting up partners who are involved with one another. If they had actually come to her with the news that they were now romantically involved, their documented solve rate would’ve made a solid foundation for a compelling argument to keep them together. Not an easy win, but a fight worth having if it would mean keeping her top detectives together. Even though they are royal pains in her arse most of the time, they’re her favourite detectives and she’d go to a lot of trouble for them. And they’re also two wonderful people who deserve a chance at happiness. If they’d trusted her with the news that they’d found that in one another? She’d have been over the moon, and said it was about time.

Jean’s found that the happiness of others is still a beautiful thing to witness, especially as the foundation of her own personal life crumbles to pieces.

Now, though? Now it looks like she won’t need to gear up for a battle with the bigots and homophobes in the force, let alone the bureaucracy. No, Laura appears to have Robbie quite well in hand. James is the one who will need some looking after.

Not that he’ll accept anything outright, of course. Prickly, guarded, aloof... these are only a few of the ways to describe James. No, she’ll do what she always does, which is to support from the sidelines where possible, and if need be use the weight of her title to force him to accept what little comfort she can offer.

It’s been interesting, watching his confidence grow over the years he’s spent with Lewis. If she’d known what they would become, how many headaches they’d cause, how many political minefields they’d create for her to navigate…. Would she have sent this terribly intelligent, awkward and too eager to please sergeant to the airport to pick up a problem inherited from a previous administration?

Looking back now, the answer is unequivocally _yes_. Not just because of the phenomenal success rate when it comes to their work. But because these two men, so very different in so many ways, have crafted not just a partnership, but a true friendship over the years and under her watchful and occasionally irritated gaze. Lewis and Hathaway compliment each other, have grown as partners and people, and are both just such good men that it’s hard to watch the impact some of their cases have had on them and not been able to reach out to help.

It’s why she’s more than a little alarmed to see the dead and lost look creeping into James’ eyes as they sit there making small talk. The sparkle she’d seen earlier in the evening vanishing as if it had never been.

As their boss, her hands are mostly tied, even when the problem is more personal than professional. For tonight though, after Robbie and Laura made their excuses? Tonight, she can get a few more rounds in and ask James about his holiday. 

“He knows what I was doing there, doesn’t he?”

“Well, Lewis might, but I don’t. I do know it’s not a seaside resort at least.”

“Not exactly, ma’am.”

“Before we go any further tonight please don’t call me that outside of working hours? My name is Jean. Use it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” A boyish grin, one actually heartfelt by the looks of it, graces his features briefly, and she’s glad to see it. He looks terribly, _terribly_ young dressed like this. Layers on layers, with the hoodie and the jacket over the top, and those disreputable jeans that have definitely seen better days. Out of one of his usual stylish suits, rumpled and with tired eyes, he more closely resembles the students attending uni in town than he does the highly effective, terribly capable, excellent detective she knows he is. 

And, damn it, possibly even more attractive.

For the rest of the evening, she’s treated to a fascinating glimpse into the mind and soul of this incredible man. Conversation flows easily, which is a surprise given how taciturn he usually is at the nick. This must be what Lewis is treated to on a regular basis, and she hopes like hell that he appreciates it. 

She laughs at James’ rather comical retelling of his travel adventures on behalf of the latest investigation. Of getting lost near Tugare, and the challenges of reading the road signs. “If I’d known I was going to be making a cross country trip — literally? I would’ve spent more time brushing up on my Serbo-Croat and Albanian traffic terminology than possible sights to visit when we were done for the day. Or I’d have at least brought the GPS with me! I didn’t count on not being able to get consistent mobile coverage. We’re far too reliant on our smart phones these days.” 

He pauses. “Then again, I hadn’t anticipated having to drop everything to go talk to a potential murder suspect, so perhaps I can be forgiven. Lewis won’t be though, I can tell you that. Not for a while anyway.”

His delivery is lighthearted, but he seems to sense that he’s revealed more than intended, and smoothly moves on to talk about some of the places that he actually did not get to see before Lewis rang and ruined his plans. The history lesson was mercifully brief, but they spend a bit of time discussing the current issues and the reason he’d gone in the first place. The Kosovo War had left scars, both on the landscape and definitely on the population, and though the outlook in the area was actually quite positive, there are always those poor souls who fall through the cracks.

“It’s not exactly how I wanted to spend my holiday, at an orphanage, but I thought taking a more hands-on approach to helping those in need would, in turn, help me.” He stares into the depths of his glass as if it holds the answers he’s gone looking for but hasn’t found. 

“Surely you know that the work you do here helps people every day.”

“Of course.” James finally meets her eyes, and she inhales sharply at the lost look in his. “But it’s not the same. Putting together the puzzle pieces of someone’s last moments before they’re brutally murdered? Does that ever really help anyone? It can’t help those who aren’t here anymore.”

She rests a hand on his arm. “No, but it can help those left behind by providing answers. How many people have you spared the months, or years of agony Robbie experienced, not knowing who had hit and killed his wife?”

James’ eyes go wide, and he ducks his head. Jean sips at her wine, patiently waiting for him to sort through his thoughts. Eventually, he raises his head and her heart sinks at what she sees in his face.

“I don’t know if that’s enough anymore, Jean. I really don’t.” Obviously uncomfortable with the turn the conversation has taken, he swiftly drains the rest of his pint and stands. “Another? Same?”

“Actually, I think I’d better switch to whatever they have that’s fizzy and non-alcoholic. That way I can give you a lift home if you’d like.” 

He nods his thanks and she turns to watch him make his way towards the bar, ducking every other step so he doesn’t whack his head on the exposed beams and low doorways. The gentleman right behind him accidentally kicks the pack left on the floor after Robbie and Laura had called it a night. To keep anyone from tripping over it, she lifts it up and onto the seat occupied by Laura earlier in the evening. As she does, the colorful rainbow hued patch on the top catches her eye. She smooths her fingers over it thoughtfully as she contemplates how it fits into the puzzle that is Hathaway.

“Is that in the way? I can move it if it’s bothering you.” He returns quickly. There must not have been many waiting to be served.

“It’s fine. Not as heavy as I would have expected.”

“Well, it’s not like I needed to carry a full kit with me for just a week. No camping stove, no tent, no bedroll. Just a few changes of clothes, sundries, my iPod and an e-reader. All the basics. It was a bit lighter coming home. Physically, anyway. I left some small things at the orphanage that I thought the kids could use.” There’s a moment where they both contemplate his luggage, and then. “You’re wondering about the patch.”

She does him the courtesy of not denying it. “Yes.”

“I’m not actually a monk, you know.”

“A friar, surely.”

A soft snort of appreciation, on the exhale, and a genuine, if small smile curls the corners of his mouth. It doesn’t last long. They sit in a not entirely comfortable silence for a while, slowly sipping their drinks. Eventually, he speaks.

“I had a different pack, once. It was the one I took with me when I left Crevecoeur. It went with me to school and lasted through my years at Cambridge. Fell apart when I went into seminary here in Oxford, and if that wasn’t God sending me a sign I don’t know what was.” He stares gloomily into his glass. “Didn’t need one for the longest time after that, since I joined the police force and have barely had a moment to myself ever since.” A mocking smile and he raises his glass to her. 

James gazes at his pack. “The pride flag hasn’t been in use for all that long, really, in the grand scheme of things. Originally, it came to prominence as a symbol of the gay pride movement in the late Seventies in California. It’s been through a number of revisions before they settled on the standard we now recognize. Influenced by the availability of the fabric colors, if you can believe it.” He pauses. “Displaying it openly in some parts of the world is still illegal and is used as justification by those who would murder another on the grounds that they don’t love the right sort of person.”

Jean nods, slowly. She doesn’t dare interrupt, and not just because this is the most personal information James has ever offered to her. He seems to need to talk about this, and she’s willing to lend an ear.

“You remember the Phoenix case?” he asks.

“Of course,” she murmurs. Hard to forget the terror in Lewis’ eyes when they discovered the meaning behind Zoe Kenneth’s name, coupled with the fact that uniform had lost sight of Hathaway. Who had last been seen in the company of a serial murderer with an agenda.

No, she’s not likely to forget the Phoenix case.

James scrubs his hands over his face roughly. “Will was my friend. We were good friends when we were younger, and regardless of whether or not I should’ve been on the case? I needed to be there. So much of it was my fault. I needed to try to make it right.

“I couldn’t accept Will as he was, you see, when we were kids. I didn’t understand, then, what a gift love could be.” James looks up and Jean nearly gasps aloud at the pain and the misery nearly radiating from him. “It took me a long time to realize that I couldn’t accept Will because I didn’t want to look closer at myself.” He sighs and shakes his head.

“People often make assumptions, when they see that patch, and it’s a good barometer for their level of tolerance. But it’s also a reminder, no, a _challenge_ to myself to look closer, to really see that things aren’t always what they appear to be. To not blindly accept doctrine as universal truth. I knew when I took the time to add that patch to the new pack that people would immediately stick a label on me as soon as they saw it. It doesn’t much matter to me, what they think, because **I** know what it stands for.

“In the end, their opinion hasn’t got a patch on what it means to me,” he concludes as he swirls the liquid in his glass.

Jean gazes at this beautifully complicated man, debating what to say in response. “Well, if you’re reduced to making terrible puns, I think you’re not nearly drunk enough.”

James snorts. “I’m drunk enough that I’m making a hash out of trying to explain this. Though to be completely honest with you, I’m not sure I’d do any better stone cold sober.

“It’s penance, for Will. And it reminds me that people can change, orientations change over time, and you can love all or none or something in between. But in the end love is never wrong.”

Jean nods firmly. “Now _that_ is a sentiment I can fully agree with. Cheers,” she says as she holds up her glass. James gives her a small smile and touches hers with his. The sound of glass tinkling seems very loud in the sudden lull of conversation.

They sit in companionable silence for a bit, but Jean senses James isn’t quite ready to move to another topic. She’s proved right moments later when he speaks again.

“I put the patch on there to honor Will, mostly. But it was a first step for…,” he trails off.

“For you too?” He flinches, and so too does her heart. So conflicted, this one.

“Yeah. For me too. But it’s not quite right. There’s a lot more talk about the entire sexuality spectrum in the past few years, and the concept of asexuality is a lot more accepted now. I’m not, to save you asking.” He rubs his hands over his face again. “Most of the time, I don’t even know what I am. Aside from confused. Bewildered." A pause, and then in a voice thick with emotion he quietly says, "Hopeless.”

She can’t help it. She reaches across the table to cover his hand with hers once more. “Never hopeless, James.”

His eyes are damp, but he turns his hand over under hers and squeezes gently. “Thanks, Jean.” Another pause. “I guess for me, it’s never been about the container the person comes in. It’s their, for lack of a better word? It’s their soul that I’m attracted to. And from there, well, everything about them is beautiful. The heart chooses.” 

A beat more and a deep, deep sigh. “I need another drink. What’ll you have?”

“I’m good with this glass for now, thanks.” A nod and he steps away for a moment to regain his composure.

While he’s at the counter, she takes a moment to reflect on what he’s revealed. It’s more personal information about the man than she’s ever heard before, and she never would’ve expected to get it directly from the source. Of course, his explanation makes perfect sense, and helps fill in a few blanks. She’d known about Fiona McKendrick, of course, and had chalked up the failure of that relationship to a case of being a bit too much alike for comfort. But now?

Now that she knows what she’s looking for, taking in the desolation under the excellent mask James usually wears to cover his feelings, she wishes she could go back in time and have never mentioned how much she wanted to “bash their heads together” when it came to Robbie and Laura. She’d thought James’ feelings for his Inspector were something along the lines of a crush, but she’s underestimated the depth and strength of his emotions. Given his prodigious memory, he’ll expect her to be deliriously happy at Hobson and Lewis finally getting their act together. Which she is, of course. They are pretty perfect for one another, after all.

She just wishes James’ heart wasn’t being trampled on as the oblivious new couple walks towards their future together.

So, James will be expecting her to be incredibly happy, and that expectation will make it less likely for him to accept any well meaning efforts to assist him. He’s got intelligence and pride in equal measure, and she suspects he’s highly allergic to anything that smacks of pity. It would appear that her only option at this point in time is to get him drunk under the guise of “welcome back from your holiday that really wasn’t,” see that he’s well anesthetized in the wake of the new relationship bombshell, and then get him home safely and pour him into bed.

The next couple of hours play out about as she expected. They chat about many inconsequential things between drams (his) and glasses of water or juice (hers). They spend quite a bit of time talking about Greenwich and the aftermath. He goes very quiet and then leans in after a glance around. There’s really no one sitting near, but he lowers his voice anyway. “I’ve met him, you know.”

“Him?”

“Thor Odinson. Prince of Asgard, known here on Midgard as the Norse god of thunder and lightning.”

This she had not known. And she’s positive she’s gaping rather unattractively at James if the smirk on his face is anything to go by. “What?!” she gasps in surprise. “How?”

“Do you remember us mentioning a young woman that we’d assisted while we were on site trying to help?” 

“An American.” She vaguely recalls them mentioning a young woman in passing, but at the time her attention had, understandably, been elsewhere once she’d established that they were safe, sound, and unharmed.

“Yes. Darcy Lewis.” Her eyebrows go up at that. “What are the odds? Well, because the universe hates me, it turns out that they share more than just a last name. They’re cousins, though I’m not entirely sure which branches of the Lewis family tree are involved.”

“ _Robbie Lewis_ has a young American cousin who is somehow connected to Thor. An Avenger.” She’s gobsmacked. “This is better than a low Bacon number.” 

“Ma’am?”

“Jean, dammit and never mind. How did you meet him?”

“Turns out Darcy hit him with a caravan and then tased him, once upon a time.”

“ _What?!_ ”

“I must admit I had a similar reaction. Apparently, and I quote, ‘Trufax, English. For reals.’” She can’t help but giggle at his apparent attempt to imitate the young woman’s accent. She’s not sure if all the Scotch is helping or hindering his efforts. “I’ll leave it to her to tell you the details should you meet in person, but to make an exceedingly long story short, she and her friend and boss befriended him a few years ago and now, thanks to the taser, he considers her his ‘Little Lightning Sister’.”

She can’t begin to imagine the kind of audacity it would take to impress an alien, let alone a god. 

“Oh, and Darcy was the target of the attack a few months ago, where Robbie got that dart in the neck? And I got shot? She’s also the one who made all those baked goods everyone at the station enjoyed.”

Jean has a feeling she’s gaping rather unattractively, given the smirk on his face. But honestly! Robbie Lewis has some explaining to do. Avengers. And an alien god. And did James just call the young woman by her first name? Multiple times? Are they that familiar with one another? Curious.

Wait. A god. James met someone considered to be a god. 

“You intended to be a priest at one point.”

“Yup.”

“And you had a conversation with someone once worshipped as an actual god.”

“He still is, for those who follow the Ásatrú religion.”

She has no idea what to say. “I have no idea what to say. Except perhaps… are you all right?”

“I don’t know how to answer that question.” He’s got a white-knuckled grip on his glass and she’s moderately worried about its structural integrity. “Darcy’s been visiting fairly frequently, and Thor and his girlfriend came with her once. Mostly to make sure Robbie and I were treating her right, I suspect. 

“I sat at Robbie Lewis’ kitchen counter with a man… well he’s not a man, is he? He’s an Asgardian. I sat at Robbie Lewis’ kitchen counter with an Asgardian who carries a war hammer that allows him to control the weather and fly, and who travels across realms using a mode of transport commonly known as the Bifrost. A being who is probably centuries, if not millennia old, who sounds like he fell out of a Shakespearean production, and who, upon being introduced to Flake bars and pork scratchings, declared our snack foods ‘delightful’. He is incredibly fond of coffee, a drink called a Boilermaker, can eat more Indian takeaway than three people in one go, and was entirely diplomatic on the subject of Marmite.”

James laughs, but it’s got more than a hint of hysteria about it and attracts the attention of a few people at nearby tables. “I thought I’d had some experience with a crisis of faith in the past, but I cannot even begin to process having had a serious discussion about the London Underground and the British attitude towards tea with an actual alien-slash-godlike being.” He looks up, and she’s genuinely alarmed by what she sees in his face. “I honestly feel like I may go mad if I think on it at all. So I’ve been trying not to.”

The death grip on his glass eases, and he buries his face in his hands for a beat. “He was also incredibly warm, very kind, intensely curious, and said that he would be open to a discussion about his place in Midgard’s religions if I wanted to have one at a later date. He wanted to learn more about Christianity, he said. From me. A failed priest and conflicted copper, offered a chance theologians around the world would probably cheerfully commit murder for, discussing our planet’s various belief structures with a GOD.” He’s visibly trembling, poor lamb.

Right, time for a distraction. “And he’s gorgeous.” Oh dear, not quite what she’d intended. Well, needs must.

Luckily, this wrings a genuine laugh out of James. “You have no idea. I mean, yes, I can certainly appreciate the aesthetic appeal of Thor even if my first reaction isn’t, ‘must shag that’. But he’s just so… so… ‘hale and hearty and well met my good fellow!’ sort of friendly. And so bloody kind. Not handsy, but affectionate with touch.” Jean can see how this would be a difficult combination of traits for anyone, let alone a affection starved, conflicted young man. James’ usual polite but cool and distant way of interacting with people wouldn’t have stood a chance against all that.

James sighs. “I would challenge anyone who identifies as one hundred percent heterosexual male to sit next to that for any length of time and not have more than a few queer thoughts. He was in jeans and a t-shirt and barefoot, and just so damn _Thor_. It was all I could do not to drool all over myself. And worse, Darcy leaned in at some point and stage whispered, ‘If you’re really good he might let you feel up his biceps’.”

And now she can’t help but chuckle at the deep, deep blush painting James’ cheeks that has nothing to do with sunburn and everything to do with mortification at being caught ogling someone.

“Did he hear her?”

He groans. “Yes, he did and he flashed a ridiculously charming grin and then promptly offered up an arm, flexing obligingly.” She can barely hear him from where he’s got his head buried in his arms on the table. “And they are bloody amazing. I couldn’t get up from the table for a good fifteen minutes afterward for fear of embarrassing myself.”

She tries, she really does, but her usual iron control fails her and her booming, belly-shaking laughter rings out across the pub, turning heads and provoking helpless smiles.

“It’s not funny!” James protests, but he’s grinning too. “I felt it would be rude to refuse. I mean, can you imagine starting some sort of interplanetary conflict because you refused to feel up one of the most attractive males in all the realms who is also an honest to goodness prince when he offers?”

She’s just completely unglued at this point, trying to breath through the laughter and weakly pounding the table with a fist.

“It was for the good of all humankind.”

“It was good,” she gasps, “of you… to make the sacrifice.”

After that, they bond over the Avengers, of all things. James keeps drinking, though she’s sticking with orange juice and sparkling water now. They agree that it would be fascinating to talk to Captain America and the Hulk, that they’re wary of Hawkeye and Black Widow, and while she thinks Tony Stark is hilarious? “I just want to take a razor to that damn facial hair. He’s so… so… smug.” It’s hard to argue with that, actually.

“You just don’t like anyone who might be more clever than you are.”

James sniffs disdainfully and swallows what's left in his glass in one go. She figures he’s about one more dram away from being unable to move by his own volition, and frankly he’s probably too tall and too heavy for her to be able to carry him out of the pub herself. Not in these heels. But he’s cheerfully amenable to following her to her car, once she suggests that it may be time to head home, trailing along after her like a puppy on a lead. She manages to pour him into the passenger seat and slides behind the wheel. She’d only had one full glass of wine and a few sips from the second, and those had been early in the evening. They’d been in there for hours and she felt confident that she was under the limit for drink driving.

“Remind me again, where do you live?” He provides slightly slurred directions to his flat, and they make the short journey in affable silence.

Which was apparently just long enough to allow him to fall asleep with his head against the window. 

She shuts off the engine and contemplates her companion. She can’t help but feel that they’re losing him to his demons. Hathaway and Lewis together make up one of the most exceptional detective teams in the entire Thames Valley force. Those impressed by the sort of showy operations Peterson runs, or who are blinded by theatrics, tend to overlook them. They do their jobs and they usually do so without fanfare. Just a steady, solid, and extraordinary solve rate that those who do pay attention cannot help but be impressed by. Their partnership is well on its way to becoming the same kind of legend that Morse had with Lewis, their names spoken of in the same breath with a tinge of reverence and more than a little bit of awe.

She hadn’t been surprised that no one wanted to try to be a substitute bagman for Robbie while James was on holiday. While there was a queue of eager staff who would dearly love to learn at Lewis’ side, none of them wanted to risk Hathaway’s jealousy or possessive streak when it came to his inspector. DC Grey got the nod only because he was so new. And she is aware of Grey’s connection to Lewis, even if Robbie himself never did figure it out.

But every copper knows that you have to find a way to shut out the horror of the work if you plan to make it your career. And she knows that James’ natural empathy is preventing him from building up the necessary thick skin he needs to endure the job as long as Lewis has in the force. She remembers the day they stood in her office, only a few cases in to their working partnership, when she threatened to demote Hathaway to traffic division. Lewis didn’t even pause before he said he’d go too. That was years ago, and their bond has only grown stronger since then.

When one goes, the other will too. She’d bet her pension on it. It won’t matter who goes first, though she suspects it’ll be Robbie. James is too devoted to him and too insecure about his place in Robbie’s life to be the one to call it quits. But she fears the time they have left together is running out, and after tonight, she can feel that countdown clock ticking faster and faster.

Even asleep James can sense eyes on him, and her musings are cut short as he starts awake. “Ma’am?”

“Home, James.” They both smile, and he fumbles for the door handle. It would appear that the impressive amount of alcohol he’s had this evening has finally caught up with him. She comes around to his side of the car to assist, and gets a shoulder under his arm.

“You might look like an anemic string bean, but you weigh an absolute tonne. Hold on.” She leans him up against the car and takes her heels off. No reason to risk turning an ankle even if it does mean she’s an additional three inches shorter now. Pack over one shoulder to act as a balance, shoes in one hand, and the other arm wrapped around his back, she is able to solidly support him as he drunkenly staggers towards the door to his flat.

“Sorry. I think it’s all caught up with me suddenly.” She’s not sure if he’s referring to the travel, the gruesome details of their latest case, the dashing of his secret hopes, or his crisis of faith. There’s just too much to choose from, and she gives up trying to figure it out and concentrates instead on not tripping on the path. 

After more than one near miss, they arrive at his door. She leans him up against the wall and peers up into his face, expectantly. He slowly blinks back at her, looking adorably owlish with his eyes wide and his hair far from his usual neat coif.

“Keys? James?”

“Hmmm?” He’s at least started patting at his pockets, albeit very clumsily. He’s obviously not got enough coordination to extract them from those jeans himself. 

“Right. I’m not making a pass, so don’t get your hopes up.” She takes a deep breath, and then she pats him down as professionally as she can remember how. And studiously ignores how nice all that solid muscle feels under her hands.

“Jean? I don’t think they’re in my _back_ pockets.” Distinctly amused, his voice brings her back to her senses just in time to realize her hands have been groping his bum quite without her permission.

She ducks her head to hide her suddenly flaming cheeks and slips two fingers into his left front pocket. Two fingers are all that will fit. How on earth does he manage to wiggle into these without doing himself injury? The angle is awkward and she has to step closer while she gently fishes for anything that resembles a key ring.

“That’s not my key ring.” Definitely amused, and she can’t repress a shiver at the low voice rumbling right next to her ear.

“You could try and help you know!” She doesn’t snap, but she is getting rather flustered. Being this close and being able to smell the remnants of some sort of cologne aren’t helping in her quest to find his bloody keys and open his bloody front door.

“But we both seem to be having so much fun.” The smartarsery is accompanied by the feeling of him nuzzling curiously at the sensitive spot right behind her ear. She bites her lip hard, the tiny pain helping her efforts to remain focused and not get distracted by that _voice_ and the way her nipples are tightening in response to....

Ah, there is a god. She spares a moment to cheekily thank Thor as she hooks a fingertip around what’s unmistakably a key ring and extracts it and her fingers from his pocket. She tells herself her hand isn’t shaking in the slightest as she gets the key in the lock and the door open, practically falling through it in her haste to put some distance between herself and James.

She turns back in time to watch as he unpeels himself from where he’s been slouched against the wall and, well, _slinks_ into the flat while she holds the door. He’s moving with a curious sort of fluidity, loose limbed and lanky as ever, and as soon as he crosses the threshold he starts stripping out of his coat and the hoodie. Rather than stand there and gawp, waiting to see what else he might remove, she drops her shoes out of the way and escapes further into the flat, looking for a place to set the pack down.

She leans over to set it down on one of the chairs in the living room, and when she straightens up and turns around she runs right into a solid wall of James. Who can, when he wants to, move with stealth even when soused. Her hands come up to steady herself and land on his chest, and his slip down to grip her hips to keep her from toppling over.

Well. This is awkward. She’s absolutely not tempted to run her hands up and down or over the solid muscles under her palms. No, that must be some other Chief Superintendent who is completely forgetting that this young man is one of her subordinates, emotionally vulnerable and rather drunk. “Well, that’s sorted then. Will you be all right?” She raises her head so she can meet his eyes. “I can….”

Whatever else she can do for him is lost as he ducks his head and covers her lips with his.

There are a thousand reasons why this is a terrible idea, but they’re all buried under a wave of heat as he gently nips her lower lip in a request for entrance. She moans, helplessly. She is only human. And good god, can the man kiss. Any additional thoughts evaporate with the feel of his hands in her hair, his tongue stroking hers, and the welcome sensation of being completely overwhelmed by something as simple as plain old lust.

Jean loses track of time as they stand there, snogging the daylights out of one another. She only comes to her senses when she finds herself riding his thigh, his hands clutching her bum and the hot length of him pressing against her hip. She ruthlessly gathers the remaining shreds of her self control and slowly lowers the intensity, easing them out of their heated clutch until they break apart, panting.

“I can’t believe I had the balls to do that,” he says, breathless. And just like that, the heavy moment is broken with their mutual giggles. His arms come up to wrap around her shoulders in one of the warmest hugs she’s ever received. She closes her eyes and hugs him back just as hard, enjoying the moment and just feeling him breathe.

“Jean? Thank you for not asking. Not once, all evening.” It’s obvious that he’s referring to the situation with Robbie and Laura, and his own undeclared feelings for Robbie.

“You’re welcome.” She gives him one last squeeze and steps back, but keeps a hold on one of his hands. “Right, let’s get you into bed.”

A smirk and a raised eyebrow greets this statement.

“To _sleep_ , you cheeky sod. You, alone, in your bed. To sleep.” Rolling her eyes, she tugs him in the direction of the bedroom. “Wait, you’ll feel better if you brush your teeth at least, and use the toilet. You do that and get into bed and I’ll meet you there, all right?”

A sweet smile and he ducks to place one last kiss on her cheek before he wanders off to do as instructed. Now that he’s out of sight, she takes a moment to fan herself, overheated and still tingling all over, but unable to condemn herself for living in the moment for once. It can’t happen again, of course. Not while she’s his superior, not while she’s in the middle of a divorce, and anyway she’s not the one he really wants. But that’ll be a memory she cherishes for years to come. Phwoar!

A brief investigation of the kitchen cupboards yields a glass for water, and a packet of paracetamol. She fills the glass, grabs a tea towel and takes her bundle towards the bedroom, where she can hear the rustling of the covers being pulled back. He’s likely to have quite the hangover once he wakes, and she’ll do what she can to make it easier on him. His heart will be hurting enough. No need for his head to ache longer than it has to.

She nearly trips over a pile of clothes, which she can see includes his pants, which have been abandoned in the doorway. Oh dear. She shoves the thought of all that long, lean sergeant lounging completely starkers under the duvet out of her mind as she arranges her items along with the trash can within easy view and hungover reach. He watches, sleepy eyed, curled up on his stomach and rubbing his cheek against his pillow. It makes him look impossibly young, and completely adorable. She makes sure the blinds are closed and his alarm turned off before she comes and perches next to him on top of the covers, rubbing his nicely muscled, bare back soothingly.

“It will get better,” she tells him. “I know that tonight has been difficult, but you two have one of the most astonishing partnerships I’ve ever seen. Please don’t give up on him.”

“Personal experience, ma’am? Where is Mr Innocent, anyway?” He’s deliberately trying to provoke her, the pillock. She lets it go for now.

“Yes, James. Personal experience, and none of your business.”

“His loss. You’ve a beautiful soul, Jean.” He captures her hand and presses one last, sweet kiss to the back of her hand. Just about every part of her, including her heart, melts at this effortless charm, all out of place in this day and age. And yet entirely, utterly James. “Thank you for helping me tonight. It would’ve been much worse if you hadn’t been there to see me through the shock.”

Frankly, she’s shocked that he’d refer to his feelings for Lewis so directly. She takes the opportunity to run her fingers through the silky soft blond tangle on his head, provoking a sigh of, well, not happiness but perhaps something close to contentment. “It was my pleasure, James.” She squeezes his shoulder and moves off the bed. 

Leaning over to place one last kiss on his temple now that he’s slipped into a deep, drunken sleep, she pauses to fish his phone out of his jeans, sets it on the nightstand as well, and puts the clothes in the hamper before she pads back downstairs to collect her things. She thinks, very briefly, about staying the night on the couch, but he’ll need some time to get his emotional walls back into place after the knocks it has taken this evening, and it would be best to leave him alone to do so. She’ll send him an email when she gets to a computer, reminding him that he has an extra few days of leave and he isn’t to show his face in the nick until his leave is up. 

She’ll add a personal note as well, saying he’s well within bounds to tell Lewis to bugger off if he’d like, as a payback for making him drive across international borders for this case, but if he really needs to work she has some cold case files ready and waiting. It’ll give him a nice out for both not seeing Lewis for a bit until his equilibrium is restored, but provide a distraction in case he needs it. She’ll ring in a couple of days to make sure he’s not drunk himself into a stupour during the time off.

She slips her heels back on, grabs her own keys from the coffee table, and lets herself out of the flat, making sure the door locks behind her. 

As she strides back down the path towards her car, she curses herself for allowing that kiss. She’s his superior officer, it was taking advantage of someone obviously unable to give proper consent, and more than that she’s years too old for him.

And with that thought it’s like someone opened a window for her into Robbie Lewis’ mind. She’s suddenly, completely certain that Robbie is not aware of James’ feelings. On top of that, Robbie’s subconscious is refusing to let him believe that James would welcome any attention of a romantic nature from him. “What would someone like that, someone utterly brilliant and as gorgeous a person as you would ever hope to call a friend, want with a sad old lech like me?” She can practically hear Robbie saying those words, clear as if he was standing right next to her.

Jean nearly staggers into her car and actually has to lean forward to rest her head on the steering wheel in despair. Because this isn’t going to end well. Because why would they bloody well just talk to one another and put their fears to rest, together. No, instead they’ll both tell themselves that the other would never, not in a million years, want to be with them. They’ll just pine after one another, oblivious, and so close to happiness that it’s going to hurt to watch them work together. Even if Robbie's with Laura now, Jean is certain that what he feels for his partner isn't going to fade overnight. 

Or ever.

And she knows, in her heart, that the two men aren't going to be partners for much longer. Robbie finally moving forward with Laura will obviously be a factor, but James is dangerously close to burn out. A change is coming, she can feel it, and she knows that they’ve made their choices and there’s no turning any of them from this path. 

Jean runs her fingers through her hair in frustration, then heaves a deep sigh as she starts her car and heads for home, enjoying the quiet and allowing herself the guilty luxury of remembering that kiss just one more time. It’s utterly reprehensible of her, but it’s not like she can go back and change her behavior. It’s entirely possible he won’t even remember the kiss. 

She’ll play the situation by ear for now, but she’ll have to plan on a way to bring it up with him when he returns to work. If that one glorious snog causes complications in their working relationship, she’ll have his options available and neatly laid out for him to choose from after careful consideration. From filing a formal complaint up to and including her transferring to another station. Who knows - maybe a new start in a new location wouldn’t be such a bad thing now that her kids are grown and her marriage is grinding to a bitter and contentious end. 

A surprising evening, for many reasons. She’d gone to have a drink and commiserate with Lewis over the loss of a good friend in Jack Cornish and ended up making a new one in James Hathaway. Witnessed the bright, eager flame of a new relationship burning. Did a little bit of burning herself for a change, with sparks of sensation still chasing themselves around in her blood.

And watched long banked embers of hope slowly fade, smothered by a wet blanket of disappointment and broken dreams.

She makes a mental note to accelerate her investigation of potential options for Hathaway in event he decides he just can’t handle being a copper any longer. There is little the Chief Super can do for Sergeant Hathaway, unless working with Inspector Lewis becomes a problem. Hathaway is far too professional to let this be the thing that tests their bond to destruction, but now that she knows what she’s looking for, she can see the signs of strain. No, Chief Superintendent Innocent can’t do much to help without making the damage worse.

But Jean? She can stand by her friend James, hold his hand and lend an ear, buy him a few drinks, and drive him home. She can let him know he has a place in her heart that has nothing whatsoever to do with him being in her employ. She can be there, when he needs her. Maybe make his soul a little less lonely.

And that’s no bad thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another idea out of nowhere, but I like to think that not-so-secret den mother Jean Innocent wouldn't possibly leave Hathaway there in that pub on his own after Robbie and Laura head out arm in arm at the end of that episode.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s been a week since the night Jean dropped James at his flat. He’d taken her up on the offer to take a few extra days, notifying her via email of his acceptance, and then basically had disappeared off her radar. 

A week filled with more than a bit of self-loathing and recrimination, not helped in the least by a particularly outrageous demand from her soon to be ex-husband by way of his solicitor. She’d actually been fairly glad for the distraction, and yes, she’s aware that a fight held by proxy with someone she once loved, and who is the father of her children is a sad benchmark to set when avoiding dealing with the consequences of her actions with a subordinate.

Though now that she’s facing the subordinate at his desk, she finds she’d rather be anywhere but here.

“Knock knock”, she says, suiting action to words and tapping lightly on the door frame. James looks up from where he’s frowning at the state of his desk.

“Ma’am. Good morning.”

“You’re here early,” she remarks, examining him closely. The time off appears to have provided enough of a break for him to get his shields back up. As they continue making small talk, he looks calm and relaxed and about a hundred times better than when she’d last left him.

“No ill effects from that night in the pub then?” She smiles as he winces.

“Ah, yes. That. Things got a bit hazy there, towards the end, but I cannot begin to emphasize how very grateful I was to see that glass of water and the paracetamol on the nightstand when I woke. That was truly thoughtful, and a lifesaver. Really.” He shakes his head, gingerly, at the memory.

“Well, I’m glad I could help.” Jean turns to go, saying over her shoulder, “It’s good to have you back, Hathaway.”

“Oh, and ma’am?”

Jean stiffens. Right, not away clean then. Bracing herself for the worst, she turns to face him.

“Thank you for not asking,” James says. His eyes are warm when they meet hers, if a bit sad, and he quirks the smallest smile in her direction. The deliberate choice of words, echoing what he’d said to her as she’d tucked him into bed alone that night, tells her that as far as he’s concerned there’s nothing to be concerned about between them. She smiles with more than a touch of relief, glad she hasn’t ruined their tentative friendship just as it’s starting.

“Anytime you want to… not talk, come not talk to me, okay?” Jean watches as he comprehends her offer, and offers a happier, more genuine smile. And then his eyes narrow, and that smile transforms into a smirk.

“Anytime I want to not talk? Really.” His gaze is heavy as his eyes trace her face, pausing on her lips for long enough that they part in surprise. 

The cheeky bastard! She pins him with her most unamused glare, but she can feel an utterly ridiculous blush wash over her cheekbones. 

The smile reaches his eyes this time, and they’re dancing, but his tone is sincere when he says, “Thank you, Chief Superintendent Innocent.”

Ah. Bygones shall be bygones. “Get back to work, Detective Sergeant Hathaway.”

“Ma’am,” he murmurs as he turns back to his computer and begins sorting through the backlog of items awaiting his return from holiday.

Jean smiles, shakes her head and strides off to her own office. He’s one half of her biggest headache, and she has no idea what’s in store for him, for Robbie, for Laura or herself in the future, but for now? As she slides into her chair and prepares herself for yet another busy day, Jean thinks that for now, they’re all okay. 

And that. Well, that’s a good result.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It felt cruel, to leave her hanging, wondering if he would remember. So a little coda, to help round out the story.
> 
> Comments always appreciated, occasionally printed out and once given consideration towards being cross stitched onto a sampler. 
> 
> Updates will be slow from here, but I have literally dozens of ideas for this universe, and will be working on more adventures as I can squeeze in the time.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
